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Bellefonte, Pa., May 28, 1909.
A WOMAN'S PRAYER.
© Lord, who knowest every need of mine,
Help me to bear each cross and not repine;
Grant me fresh courage every day,
Help me to do my work alway
Without complaint !
O Lord, Thou knowest well how dark the way,
Guide Thou my footsteps lest they stray;
Give me fresh faith for every hour,
Lest [ should ever doubt Thy power,
And make complaint!
Give me a heart, O Lord, strong to endure,
Help me to keep it simple, pure;
Make me unselfish, helpful, true
In every act, whate'er [ do,
* And keep content!
Help me to do my woman's share,
Make me courageous, strong to bear
Sunshiue or shadow in my life;
Sustain me in the daily strife,
To keep content!
—By Anoa B. Badlam, in The Ladies’ Home
Journal,
THE CHOICE.
Stilling, that night after dinner, had sur-
himself. He always did, Wraylord
reflected, when the small fry from High-
field came to dive. He, Cobbam Stilling,
who bad to find his beaiings, keep to his
level, in the big, beedless, oppressive world
of New York, dilated avd grew vast in the
congenial medium of Highfield. The Red
House was the biggest house of the High-
field summer colony, ns Cobbam Stilling
was its biggest man. No one else within
a radius of a hundred miles (on a conserv-
ative estimate) bad as many borees, as
many greenhouses, as many servants, and
assuredly no one else had two motors, or a
motor-bhoat for the lake.
The motor-boat was Stiiling’s latest hob-
by, and be rode—or sailed—it in and out
of the conversation all the evening, to the
obvious edification of every oue present
save his wife and his visitor, Austin Wray-
ford. The interest of the latter two,
who, from opposite ends of the drawing-
room, exchanged a fleeting glance when
Stilling again launched his craft on the
thin correvt of the talk—the interest of
Mrs. Stilling and Wrayford, had already
lost its edge by protracted conversational
oontact with the subject.
Bat the dinner-guesta—the Rector, Mr.
Swordsley, and Mrs. Swordsley, Lucy and
Agnes Granger aod their brother Addison,
and young Jack Emuwerton trom Harvard
—were all, for divers reasons, stirred to the
proper pitch of feeling. Mr. Swordsley, no
doabs, was saying to himself : “If my good
shioner here can afford to buy a motor-
t, in addition to all the other expendi-
tures which an establishments like this must
entail, I certainly need nos scruple to ap-
peal to him again for a coutribution toward
our Galabad Club.” The Granger girls,
meanwhile, were evoking visions of lake-
side picnics, vot unadorned with the pres.
ence of young Mr. Emmerton; while that
youth bimself speculated as to whether his
affable host would let him, when he came
back on his next vacation, ‘‘learn to run
the thing himsell;” and Mr. Addison
er,the elderly bachelor brother of the
volatile Lucy and Agues, mentally formu-
Tated the precise phrase io which, in his
next letter to his consin Professor Spildyke
of the University of East Latmos, he shonld
allude to “‘our last delightful trip in wy
old friend Cobbam Stilling’s ten thousand
dollar motor-laonch’ —for East Latmos
was still in that primitive stage of social
oulture on which such figures impinge.
Isabel Stilling, sitting beside Mrs.
Swordsler, her head slightly bent above
the veedlework with which, on snch ocea-
sions, it was her old fashioned habit to be
engaged —[sabel alto had doubtless her re-
flections to make. As Wrayford leaned
"back in his corner, and looked at her
across the bright, Hower filled drawing-
room, he noted first of all—for the hun-
dredth time—the flexible play of her hands
above the embroidery-{rame, the shadow of
the dusky, wavy bair on her forehead, the
sired droop of the lide over her somewhat
full gray eyes. He noted this, taking in
anconscionsly, at the ame time, the inde-
soribable quality in her attitude, in the
fall of her dress and the tarn of her head,
that eet her, for him, in a separate world ;
then be said to himeell : “‘She ’s certainly
thinking ‘Where on earth will he get the
mouey to pay for i+?”
Bat at the same moment, from his in-
evitable position on the bearth-rug, cigar
in mouth, his bands in his waistcoat pock-
ets, Stilling was impressively perorating.
“I said, ‘If I bave the thing as all, I
want the Best boat ea he jot? That 's
way, you know, Swordeley; I suppose
i what you'd call fastidious. Always
was, about everything, from ocigars to
wom’’—his eye met the apprehensive
glance of Mrs. Swordsley, who looked, in
ing dress, like her husband with his
clerical coat cat slightly lower—‘‘ao I said,
‘It I bave the thing at all, I want the best
shat can be got.” Nothing makeshift for
me, no second-best. I never cared for the
obeap and showy. [always say frankly to
a man, ‘If you can’t give mea first-rate
cigar, for the Lord’s sake, let me smoke my
own.” Well, if you bave my standards,
you can’t buy a thing in a minate. You
must look round,compare, select. I found
there were lots of motor-boats on the mar-
kes, just as there ’s lots of stuf! called
cham e. Bat I said to myself, ‘Ten to
one there's only one fit to buy, just as
there ’ only only champagne fit for a gen-
tleman so drink.’ Argued like a lawyer,
eb, Austin ?”’ He tossed this joviaily to-
ward Wrayford. ‘‘Take me lor one of your
own trade, wonldn’t you? Well, I'm not
such a fool as I look. I suppose you fel.
lows who are tied to the treadmill, —oh,
excuse me, Swordsley, but work ’s work,
isn’t it °*—I suppose you think a man like
me bas nothing to do but take it easy—Iloll
rough life like a woman. By George,sir,
I'd like either of you to see the time it
takes—I won’ say the brains—bus just the
time is takes to pick out a good motor-boat.
why, I went—'
re. Stilling set her embroidery-frame
noiselessly on the low table at her side, and
turned her head toward Wrayford. ‘Would
you mind ringing for the ”
The interruption helped Mrs. Swordsley
to waver to her feet. ‘‘I think we really
ought to be going; my husband bas an ear-
ly service tomorrow.”
Her host sounded an immediate protest.
‘‘Going already ? Nothing of the sort!
Why, the night 's still young, as the poet
says. Long way from here to the rectory ?
Nonsense ! In our little twenty-horse motor
we do it in five minotes—don’t we, Belle ?
Ah, you're walking, to be sare—"’ Sill.
ing’s indulgent gesture seemed to concede
that, in such a case, allowances must be
made, and tkat he was the last man not to
make them. “Well, then, Swordsley—"'
He held ont a thick, red band that seemed
to exude beneficence, and the clergyman,
pressing it, ventured to mormur a sogges-
tion.
“VY hat, that Galahad Club again ? Why,
I thougint my wife—Isabel, didn’t we—
No? Well, it must bave been my mother,
then. And of course, you know, anything
my good mother gives is—well—virtnally
—You haven’t asked her ? Sure? I could
have sworn; I get so many of these appeals.
And in these times, you know, we have to
go cautiously. I'm sure you recognize thas
yourself, Swordeley. With my obligations
-lhiere now, to show you don’t bear malice,
have a brandy and soda before you go.
Nonsense, man ! This brandy isn’t liquor;
it’s liquenr. 1 picked is op last year in
London—Ilast of a famous lot from Lord Ss.
Oswyn’s cellar. Laid down here, it stood
me at—Eh ?’’ he broke off as his wife mov-
ed toward him. ‘“‘Ah, yes, of course. Mise
Lucy, Miss Agnes—a drop of soda water ?
Look here, Addison, you won't refuse my
tipple, [ know. Well, taks a cigar, at any
rate, Swordsley. And, by the way, I'm
afraid you'll have to go round the long
way by the avenue tonight. Sorry, Mrs,
Swordsiey, bat I forgos to tell them to leave
the gate on the lane unlocked. Well, it's
a jolly night, and I daresay you won't
mind the extra tarn along the lake. And,
by Jove! if the moon ’s out, yon can get a
glimpse of the motor-hoat as you turn the
point. She ’s moored just out beyond our
boas house; and it's a privilege to look as
her, I can tell you !"
The dispersal of the remaining guests car-
ried Stilling out into the ball, where his
pleasantries echoed genially ander the oak
rafters while the Granger girls were being
muffled for the driveand the carriages sum-
moned from the stables.
By a common impulse Mrs. Stilling and
Wrayford bad moved together toward the
hearth, which was masked from the door
into the ball by a tall screen of lacquer.
Wrayford leaned his elbow against the
chimney piece, and Mrs. Stilling stood
motionless beside him, her clasped bands
banging down before her. The rose on her
breast stirred slightly.
“Have yon any more work to do with
him tonight?’ she asked below her breath.
Wraylord shook his head. ‘““We wound
it all up before dinner. He doesn’t want
to talk about it any more than he can
help.” ~
**It ’s 80 bad ?"’
‘‘No; bas he 's gos to pull up.”
She paused, looking down as her clasped
hands. He listened a moment, catching
Stilling’s farewell shout ; then be changed
his position slightly, and laid his hand on
her arm.
“In an hour?”
She made a faint motion of assent.
“I'll tell youall about is then.
key ’s in the usual place ?"’
She nodded again, and walked away
with her long, drifting motion as her hus-
band came in from the hall. He went up
to the tray, and poured himsell a tall glass
of brandy and soda.
“The weather 's turning guneer—black
as-pitoh out now. I hope she Swordsleys
won't walk into the lake—involuntary im-
mersion, eh ? He'd come out a Baptist, I
suppose. What ’d the Bishop do in such a
case ? There 's a problem for a lawyer, my
boy "
He clapped Wrayfoid resoundingly on
the thin shoulder and then walked over to
his wife, who was gathering up ber em-
hroidery silks and dropping them into an
old-fashioned work bag. Stilling took her
by the arms and swanog her playfully about
80 that she faced the lamplight.
‘““What ’s the matter with you tonight ?"’
“The matter?’ she echoed, blushing a
little, and standing very erect in her desire
not to appear to shrink from bis touch.
“You never opened your lips. Left me
the whole joh of entertaining those blessed
people. Didn't «she, Austin?"
Wiayford laughed and lighted a ciga-
rette, ‘‘She wasn’t quite up to the mark.”
“There ! You see even Austin noticed it.
What 's the matter 7 Aren't they good
enough for you? I don’t pretend they ’re
particularly exciting; but, bang it! I like
to ask them here—I like %o give pleasure.”
“I didn’t mean to be dull,” said Isabel,
appralingly.
‘Well, you must learn to make an ef-
fort. Don’t treas people as if they weren’s
in the room just because they don’t happen
to amuse you. Do you know what they'll
think ? They'll think it’s because you've
got a bigger house and more cash. 11
tell you something ? My mother said she'd
noticed the same thing in you lately. She
said she sometimes felt you looked down
on her lor living in a small house. Oh, ehe
was ball joking, of course; but yon see yon
do give people tbat impression. I can’t
understand treating any one in that way.
The more [ have myself, the more I want
to make other people happy.’
Isabel gently freed hersell and laid the
work bag on her embroidery frame. “I
have a headache ; perhaps that made me
stopid. I'm goiug to bed.” She turned
toward Wrazford and held out ber band.
“Good nighs."”’
“Good nighs,”’ he answered, opening the
door for her.
When he turned back into the room, his
host was pouring himself a third glass of
brandy and soda.
“‘Here, bave a nip? Gad, I need it bad-
ly, alter the shaking up you gave me this
afternoon.” Stilling gave a short langh,
and carried his glass to the hearth, where
be took up his usual commanding position.
“Why the deuce don’t you drink some-
thing, Austin ? Youn look asglum as Isabel.
One would think you were the chap that
bad been hit.”
Wrayford threw himself into the chair
from which Mrs. Stilling had lately risen.
Jt waa thie obo she bahitoally ans in, ssi to
Janey a faint scent er always olung
to it. He leaned back and looked up at
Stilling.
?” the latter continued.
The
“Want a
*‘Shall we go into the den and smoke ?"’
Wrayford hesitated. “If there 's any-
“hing more you want to ask me about—'’
“Gad, no! I bad full measure and run-
ning over this afternoon. The deuce of it
is, I don’t ae Whete we wi 's all
to. Luck ve got plen nerve;
"m not the kind of man to sit down and
snivel because he ’s been touched in Wall
Street.”
Wrayford rose again. “Then, il you
don’t want me, I think I'll go up to ou
room and put some finishing touches toa
brief before I turn in. I must get back to
town tomorrow afternoon.”
‘All right, then.”’ Stilling set down hie
empty glass, and held out bis hand with a
tinge of alacrity. ‘‘Good night, old man.”
They shook e, and Wrayford moved
toward the door.
“I say, Austin—stop a minate !” his
host called alter him.
Wrayford turned, and the two men faced
each other across the hearth-rog. Stilling’s
eyes shifted uneasily in his flushed face.
““There ’s one thing more you can do for
me, like a good chap, before you go. Tell
Isabel about that loan; explain to her she ’s
got to sign a note for is.”
“You want me to tell her ?”’
“Hang it! I'm soft-hearted—that ’s the
worst of me.” Siilling moved toward the
tray, and lilted the braody decanter. **And
she'll take is better liom you; she'll have
to take it from you. She’s proud. You
cau take her cut for a row tomorrow morn-
ing—youn can take her out in the motor-
launch, if yon like. I means to have a spin
in it mysell io the morning; but il you'll
tell her—"’
Wrayford hesitated.
tell her.”
“Thanks a lot,” my dear fellow. And
you'll make ber see it wasn’t my faalt,
eh ? Women are awlfnlly vagne about mon-
ey, and if you appear to back me up, you
know—""
Wraglord nodded.
Good night.”
“Good night. Here, Anstin—there’s
just one more thing. You need n’t say
asoythiog to Isabel about the other business
—] mean my mother’s securities.”
“Ah ?" said Wrayford.
Stilling shifted from one foot to the oth-
er. ‘‘I'd rather put that to the old lady
myself. Ican make it clear to her. She
idolizes me, you know—and, hang it ! I've
got a good record. Up to mow, I mean.
My mother's been in clover since I mar-
ried; [ may say she 's heen my first thought.
And I don’t want her to hear of! this from
Isabel. Isabel ’s a little harsh at times—
and of course this isn’t going to make her
| any easier to live with.”
‘Very well,” Wraylord assented.
Stilling, with a look of relief, walked to-
ward the window which opened on the ter-
race, ‘“‘Gad ! what a queer night ! Hot as
the kitchen range. Shouldn't wonder if
we bad a sqnall before morning. I wonder
if that infernal skipper took in the laanch’s
awnings before he went home.”
Wragloid pansed a moment in the door-
way. ‘Yes, I saw him do it. She’s ship-
shape for the night.”
““Good ! That saves me a ran down to
the shore.” Stilling strolled back into the
room whistling cheerfully.
‘*Good night, then,” said Wrayford.
“Good night, oid man. You'll tell
her 2?
“I'l tell her,” Wraylord answered from
the threshold.
“And mum about my mother !”’
host called after him.
II
The darkness bad thinned a little when
Wrayford scrambled down the steep path
to the shore.
the threat of a storm seemed to bave van-
ished, and now and then the moon’s edge
showed above a torn slope of clond.
Bat in the densely massed shrubbery
about the boat bons the night was still
black, and Wrayford had to strike a match
before be could find the lock and insert his
key. He left the door unlatched, and
groped his way in. How often be bad crept
into this warm pine-scented obecurisy,
guiding himself cautiously by the edge of
the bench along the side wall, and hearing
the stealthy lap of water through the gaps
in the flooring ! He knew just where one
bad to duck one’s head to avoid the two
canoes swang from the rafters, and just
where to put his hand on the latch of the
door thas led to the balcony above the lake.
The boat house represented one of Still-
ing’s abandoned whims. He bad built it
some seven years before, and for a time is
bad been the scene of incessant nautical ex-
ploits. Stilling bad rowed, sailed, paddled
indelatigably, and all Highfield had been
impressed to bear him company and ad-
mire his versatility. Then motors had
come in,and he bad forsaken aquatic sports
for the guidance of the flying chariot. The
canoes of hirchbark and canvas had been
hoisted to the rool, the little sail boat had
rotted at her moorings, and the movable
floor of the hoat house, ingeniously con-
trived to slide back on noiseless runners,
bad lain undisturbed through several sea-
sons,
been mislaid,—by Isabel’s faalt, her haus-
band asserted, —and the lecksmith had to
be called in to make a new one when the
purchase of the motor hoat made the lake
once more the center of Stilling’s activity.
As Wraylord entered he noticed that a
“All right. Tl
‘“As yon please.
his
#cent of dry pine wood; and at the next
step his foot struck an object that rolled
noisily across the boards. He lighted a
match, and found be bad overturned a can
of grease which the boatman had no dovbs
i using to oil the runners of the sliding
oor.
Wraylord fels his way down the length
ol the boat house, aud softly opening the
balcony door, looked ont on the lake. A
few yards off the lanoeh lay motionless in
the veiled moonlight; and jast helow him,
on the black water, he saw she dim outline
of the skiff which Stilling nsed to paddle
out to her. The silence was #0 intense that
Wrayford (ancied he heard a faint rustling
in the shrubbery on the high bank behind
the boat house, and the crackle of gravel
on the path descending to it.
He closed the door again turued back ;
and as he did so the other door, on the land
side, swung inward, aud a figure darkened
the dim opening. Just esough light en-
tered through the round holes above the
respective doors to reveal it as Mrs. Still-
ing’s cloaked outlive, and to guide her to
him as be advanced. Bas before they met
she stumbled aod gave a little ery.
*‘What is it?’ he exclaimed, springing
toward her.
‘My foot canghs ; the floor seemed to
give way under me. Ah, of conrse—'’ She
bent down in the darkness—‘‘I saw the
men oiling it this morning.”
Wrayford caught her to him. ‘Be care-
fal, darling ! It might be S40getom if is
alia too easily. Lhe water 's deep under
ere.
“Yes; the water ’'s very deep. I some-
times wish—'" She leaned against him
without finishing her sentence, and he
tightened his arme about her.
w= 1” be whispered, his lips on her
rf.
Suddenly she threw back her bead and
seemed to listen.
“What ’s the matter ?’’ he asked, listen-
ing also. “What did you hear?"
“I don’t know.” He felt her trembling.
“I'm not sare this place is as safe as it used
to he—
Wrayford held ber to him reassuringly.
“Bus boatman sleeps down at the vil-
Jage; 304 who else should come here at this
“My hasband sight. He thinks of
pothing bus the launch.”
““He won’ tonight, for I told him I'd
seen the ski roll up the awning, and
put She lat shipshape, and that satis-
m.
‘‘Ah, be did think of coming, then ?"’
““Only for a minute, when the sky look-
ed so black half an hour ago, and was
afraid of a equall. It ’s clearing now, and
there ’s no danger.”
He drew ber down on the bench, and
they sat a moment or two in silence, her
bande in his. Then she said wearily :
“You ’d better tell me.”
Wrayford gave a faint laugh. *‘Yes, I
Though the air was heavy, |
Even the key of the boat house had |
strange oily odor overpowered the usual |
Wraylord, in bis torn; flashed slightly. | sn e I bad. In fact, he asked me to.” shows that he is turning many farrows.
gotly ppos
*“He asked you to?”
“Yes.”
| She sounded a sharp note of contempt.
| “Tne coward ! he ’s alraid !”
| Wrayford made no reply, and she went
fon: “I'm net. Tell me everything,
| please.”
| “Well, be 's chucked away a pretty big
‘sum again—"'’
| “How bas he done it?"
| ‘He says he doesn’t know. He's heen
| specalating, I suppose. The madness of
{ makiog him your trustee !"’
| Bhe drew her bands away quickly. **Yon
koow why I did 15. When we married I
| didn’t want to pos bim in the false posi-
| tion of the man who accepts everything ; I
| wanted people to think the money was
| partly his.”
| “I don’t know what you've made people
| think; but you've been eminently sucoess-
fall in one respect. He thinks it's bis—
and be loses it as if is were.”
She shivered a little, drawing ber cloak
closer. ‘‘There are worse things. Go on.”
“Isabel !”” He bent over her. “Give
me your band again.”” He lifted it and
laid a long kiss on it.
“What was it—exaotiy~ that he wished
you to tell me ?'’ she asked.
““That you've got to sign another prom-
issory note--for fifty thousand this time."’
She drew a deep breath. ‘‘Is thas ail 2"
Wrayford hesitated; then he gaid : *‘Yes
«for the present.”
She sas motionless, her head bent, her
band resting passively in his.
He leaned nearer. ‘‘What did yon mean,
just now, by worse things?"
She paused a moment. ‘‘Haven’t yon
noticed that he 's heen drinkinga great
deal lately 2"
“Yes; I've noticed.”
They were both silent again; then Wray-
| ford aid with sudden vehemence : *‘And
yet yon won't..."
| “Won't ?"
i “Patan end to it. Good God!
i what ’s lefs of your life.”
| She wade an answer, and in the deep
| stillnes the throb-throb of the water nnder-
| neath them was like the anxious beat of a
i heart.
Save
[Concluded next week.)
—Do you know thas you can get the
| finest, oranges, hanaunas and grape fruit
! and pine apples, Sechler & Co.
| From Ocean to Ocean In a Fiyer,
i
BY M. V. THOMAS,
i
i
{| [Written for the Warcnyay and continued from
Inst week. |
Night bas settled over the land before
| we reached St. Paul, therefore the first
| thing in order, when you get there isto
{ basten to the proper window to secure your
sleeper ticket, which bas heen reserved for
you if yon have exercised foresight and
secured your berth by telegraph, a day in
advance. Having secnred your tickes yon
board the sleeper and, if you are wise in
your generation, you approach the porter
after the most approved manner observed
in porterdom, at the same time dropping a
mere bint that you expect him to look ont
for your comfort. His hearty ‘‘yo’ bet I
will,”” is good to hear, especially if there
is a long trip before youn. Subsequent
events may show that youn have made the
porter your friend none to soon. You may
find that some one, assigned to an upper
berth has ‘pre-empted’ your lower one.
It #0, don’t get excited, just notify your
obliging friend, and watch results. There
may be a war-cioud above the horizon; bas
a skirmish, of words, will clear the atmoa-
phere, and after a lew scattering shuts or
parting salutes, you will bave the satisfac.
tion of seeing a disgruntled usurper crawl-
ing out of comfors. At last you come into
yourjown,
It you are a lover of nature you may tell
the porter to wake you as soon as itis
light enough to see. His characteristic
| question, ‘What c¢’'n ye’ eee in No'th
! Dakota,’ lady?’’ is an index to his opinion
| of the conantry you will reach when day-
' light comes.
{ If yon will exercise your imagination to
! a degree it may not be difficals for you to
compare your entering the sleeper at St.
Paul to being swallowed by a greats red
worm. And during the night while you
are sieeping the worm is speeding across
the great farms of Minnesota. Yesterday
you saw farmers plowing and animals
basking in the spring sunshine. Bus dar-
ing the night a cbange has come over the
atmosphere. You wake in the early morn-
ing while it ie yet dark, with a feeling of
chilliness. As approaching day gradually
dispels the darkoess you wonder what
makes thejground look so white; but, by
and by you see that it is covered with
snow, lor it was snowing and freezing there
last night (April 20.) See those icicles
hanging from the water-tank, and there on
the ground is a pool of water frozen over.
You mentally answer the porter’s question
by thinking. ‘‘I see some snow, some ioe,
and somejof North Dakota.”
Here{comes the obliging porter to carry
out yourforders, but you are already astir,
for it you wish to use the Northern Pacifico
Railway company’s mirrors in making
your toilet, you will ‘‘come early and avoid
the rush.” Now look out through the
window, do not give all your attention to
your fellow travelers; yon will have them
with you for several days, but you will not
bave thisfparticular bit of landscape more
than a few minates. For the great worm
which swallowed you last night, stops only
long enough to fill his empty maw with
water and coal and then rushes westward
in a mad race with the sun, impatiently
snorting, “I'm getting there—getting
there—getting there! Among other things,
you notice that the snow has all disappear-
ed, the sun is shining now, but soon it
will darken and a snow equall will come
blowing across the plains, which will give
you some unpleasant feelings as you re-
member what you have read about a North
Dakota blizzard. Bat it is soon over and
the sun shines again.
There across the field you eee a man
starting out, riding hie sulky plow, drawn
by six horses. The wide stretch of rich
black soil which spreads out behind him
| As you notice mile after mile of furiows
| that be bas already plowed, you begin to
| wonder if he will get home to dinuer.
| Here and there a herd of cattle or horses
| can be seen grazing; bere and there a small
| house and barn with a wiod-mill pear.
| Very rarely is a dug-out seen and the
| houses are not all emall. Occasionally one
| can see a large commodions looking farm-
| bonse. Suddenly you awake to a realiza-
| tion of the fact that you have ridden for
hours without seeing a tree. As far as the
eye can see the unbroken level of the prai-
rie, everything bas the color of dried grass
except where is has been burned or plowed,
and that is black.
A tiny speck oa the distant horizon may
bea house, a hay-stack or the top of a
wind-mill; the difference in sizz is nos
great. Youn occasionally come to some low
rolling hills. Away in the distance where
the sky seems to bend down to greet the
earth, a line of smoke can he seen rising,
it must be the breath of another hig'worm;
your own particolar worm is rushing
across the top of the earth, while the other
one seems to be creeping along the side.
By and by yon cross she Missouri river
windiog its way throogh the sage brush
which grows along its banks if one may
speak of perfectly flat ground as “‘banks.”’
Again you enter some low hills or rolling
country. To disoribe the peculiar forage
caused by the erratiostreams washing away
the soft, loose earth, is impossible. Here,
miles away from any other habitation, is a
house, which in size and appearance might
dooredit to any town. Near it are fine,
{ large, modern farm buildings and bess of
| all (what a relief to the ejes) a large or-
{obard. Not more than a mile away is a
| berd of cattle. As you go on westward you
| will notice many such scenes as this. Later
we come to wonderfal rock formatians,
bare and bleak on top and sides, the low
lands{and ravines among them being cover-
{ ed with sage brush grass. You can only
gaze io silens wonder and admiration, and
try think how many thousands of years is
bas taken the elements, set to work hy the
architect of the ages, to bring these marvels
to their present stage of development. And
some way you get to speculating mentally
on how long a regiment of soldiers could
hold this place against the Bad Lands.
Think of traveling sixty hours in a flyer
without seeing a mediom sized forest tree!
but now you begin to eee snow-capped
mountains in the distance, fringed with
low pines, the level unbroken plain stretch-
ing away for miles, a tiny house may oo-
oasionally be seen on the plain.
‘What can yon see in North Dakota?’
You can see enough to give you some faint
idea of the size of some things in this big
world; You begin to understand in a vague
way, the term: Granary of the United
States; youn begin to realize what it means
to be the man behind the plow, who feeds
the hangry millions. You begin to con-
template in your poor way the vastness of
the plans of God.
By and by as you gradually approach
the Rookies youn notice the trees more in
evidence, though they are by no means
large. They are mostly of the evergreen
varieties. You also notice that you have
been for some time climbing into a bigher
altitude. Now yon are descending at a
rate thas gives you a oreepy feeling when
you allow yourself to think of the possibil-
ity of an accident. You soon reach thas
nest-like depression among the mountains
in which Helena rests. Where we have ten
minutes to look about, let us step out on
the station platform. How good it is to
be able to inbale this pure air! See those
Indians in their gorgeous blankets and
moceasine, walking about among the crowd
offering for sale post cards and bead purees
as well as some other curios, at prices to
correspond with the altisude—high. From
here we again ascend the mountains, here
snow crowned mountain, there, low hill or
rolling plain, all sparsely wooded with
small or medium sized ever-green trees.
Do yon see that hole in the ground with
a pile of gravel beside it? It is only one of
a large number, each of them is the grave
of and a monument to the disappainted
hopes of some poor prospector.
Your worm has now become a double
headed one. It continues to snort and poff
about ‘‘getting there,”’ with equal deter-
mination, though with more difficulty.
All as onoe we are plunged in darkness, it
is only a tunnel, we shall pass through
several of them before we reach the highest
point on the road. We come out of it in a
few minutes bat our worm has to wind
about the mountainside where-ever it has
found a suitable place to climb.
Here it leaves the mountain-side and
rushes through mid-air across a high tres-
tle. You can now see both heads of your
worm as they form the two ends of a hall-
cirole of cars. They are still impatiently
snorting and speeding upward. As yc
reach the high table land where you oros
to the other side of the mountain you are
surprised to see fertile fields, fine houses,
well-traveled roads, large ranks of market-
able wood brought from somewhere back
in the mountains, streams of clear water,
cattie grazing, and people going about ap-
parently as thinly clad as those living at
lower altitudes. But still we are carried
across the great highland through changing
scenery, still climbing and clinging to the
mountain sides, now shooting off into mid-
air across a trestle not quite three hundred
feet high, from which you look down upon
a beautiful cultivated valley. A few hun-
dred feet away we glide along a mountain
side and look down hundreds of feet below
us upon the silver spray formed by the
water dashing down from rook to rock in
its course down the ravine. As we reach
the divide or table in crossing, the scene
changes.
Here are saw mills; large pastures in
which are horses, cattle and ponies in
herds, cropping the fresh, green grass;
small bas neatly built farm houses sur-
rounded with rich meadows, and plowed
fields showing the rich black soil. Yonder
is an attractive little school building with
Old Glory Hoating above it. A short dis
tance away are two Indian maidens riding
their ponies; and over there under a tree is
is Indian tepee. Away in the distance,
beyond all this, rise the snow covered peaks
iu silens grandeur. As we view this scene
we start dowo grade and vow we seem to
he ruuning a race with the sparkling wa-
ters of a gurgling mountain stream. As
you are carried down throngh the valley
you see pretty towns, artistic cottages,
wigwams, and farm-hoases nestling as it
were noder the protection of the mighty
mountains, and looking out over the green
waters of Clark’s Fork, as it winds in and
out among the tall trees. As you come to
a pretty town called Plains you learn that
you are traveling through she Flat Head
valley and the Indian reservation of that
tribe. As twilight falls we are still speed-
ing by over-hanging rocks far above us
while under their shelter yellow daisies
and mountain pioks are blooming.
Daybreak finds ns in the Yaquima valley
with its wonderful irrigation system; its
rich alfalfa fields, and its great orchards in
tall bloom, its fertile farms planted with
various crops, and among these, its barren
plains where there is no irrigation. Far
to the south ward is Mt. Adams, its majes-
tio snowy crown rising above the clouds
which can be seen floating about it. Now
we are climbing up, up, with two engines
puffing and proclaiming ‘‘we’re getting
there, we're getting there!” We are de-
soending the Cascades. Again, darkness
comes upon us at intervals as we enter the
several tunnels on this part of the route,
the longest of which requires eight min-
utes to pass through. And before emerg-
ing from this one we can hear the brakes
at work and tell by the motion of the train
that we are rouning down the mountain.
Do uot fear; the lever is under the control
of nerves of steel and a will of iron. Look
down the mountain helow you at the saw-
miils, see the timber which bas been reck-
lessly wasted, lefs to decay, and handreds
of acres of standing timber which has been
destroyed by fire. Here we are down at
last beside the Green river with its beanti-
ful scenery. Sparkling, leaping, laugh-
ing, singing cascades come bounding down
the mountainsides surrounded by veidure
of wondrous richness. But we cannot en-
joy it long. We simply ges passing glimps-
es of its heauty as the train dashes along.
We are over an hour late; and are now en-
gaged in a wild race agains time; and time
is several lengths ahead. On arriving at
Tacoma we find that with all the efforts
put forth we have lost the race. The
Southero Pacific train left the oity before
we entered it, and so we have eight hours
to wait for the nexs train.
Let us improve the shining hours. We
will take this car to the wharf on Pages
Sound. See those large ships, they will soon
be laden and ploughing the broad Pacif-
ie. Over there on the beach is a large sign
which says, “Watch Tacoma Grow.” And
traly when yon have seen more of the
place!you will decide that it grows ‘‘while
you wait.’ As soon as you hoard the car
you are impressed with the politeness of
the people. The car we have boarded rans
from the whaif to McKinley Park, from
where you can look over the city, and a
beaatifaljeity it is, built upon the hills.
Is looks like a city of homes, dainty cot-
tages which are marvels of art and beauty,
surrounded with brilliant flowers and
smooth, green lawns. There are no street
crossings, they are not needed for the
streets are paved {from end to end with
bricks, concrete blocks, or solid concrete.
There are signs reading saloon, barroom,
eto., but youn can see no drank men nor
loaters, everyone seems to be too busy to
patronize these places. We learn later that
the lawe are strict aod the citizens have
the backbone to see them enforced. Seeing
several church spires we decided to view
the churobes, but at the end of an hour or
more we bave seen only a few of them, so
we return to the station. Here is a man
who wears an official cap, but on being ask-
ed how wany churches are in the city he
answers ‘You've got me there, I can’t tell
how many, but I know there are a good
many"
In the station we find a representative of
the Y. M. C. A., who kindly bands ue a
copy of the directory and volunteers many
bits of useful information. From the di-
rectory we get the following information.
There are seventy-seven ohurches repre-
senting fifteen denominations; eleven un-
denominational organizations for the up-
lifting and obristaanizing of mankind;
twenty-eight church auxiliary societies;
thirty schools and colleges, educational and
industrial, not counting the common
schools which number twenty-three. The
dainty homes show the pride of owner-
ship, public works, the pride of citizen-
op, [To be Continued.
A woman who bas mislaid her hat bas
been known to look for it in her purse,
among other impossible It women
realized that much of the medical treat-
ment received from local practitioners was
an effort only to locate disease,and a search
for it in most unlikely and impossible
places, they would place a higher value on
the opinion of a specialist like Dr. Pierce.
His wide experience in the treatment and
cure of more than half a million women
enables him to promptly locate the disease
hy its symptoms. For all diseases of the
delicate womanly organs there is no medi.
cine eo sure to heal as Dr. Pierce's Favorite
Prescription.
Sick women are invited to consult Dr,
Pierce by letter, free of charge. All cor-
ence striotly private, Address Dr.
R. V. Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y.